An Eye for an Eye
by brinke
Summary: Post s3e8. Keats is determined to bring down Gene Hunt by fair means or foul. If it involves dragging an innocent woman into his sordid scheme so much the better. After all, he's not felt the heat of a woman in quite a while. Rated M for ch 5&6 only
1. Chapter 1

It was as if World War 3 had broken out in Fenchurch East.

The reception area was bursting with people waving placards, or wearing t-shirts, proclaiming their opposition to the Poll Tax, with varying standards of spelling and punctuation. Loud chants of "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, out, out, out" rang around the room, while Police Officers dashed about in several directions trying to contain groups of the more excitable protesters.

Sarah sat at the very end of the wooden bench, feeling bewildered and a tad lost. For the life of her she couldn't work out why she'd come for an interview with the Police and certainly the scene before her wasn't exactly proving that she had made the right decision. She jumped as a door at the end of reception crashed open, and out stomped an angry looking man in a grey suit and...were those snakeskin cowboy boots?

"Oi, will you keep this bunch of dole scrounging soap dodgers quiet," he demanded, in a gruff northern accent. "Or I'll be shoving your pole where the sun don't shine; tax or no tax!"

He stalked back through the door, almost taking it off its hinges as he went.

"Miss Jenkins?" The harassed looking sergeant behind the desk called. "You can go through."

Sarah stood up and smoothed down her clothes. She'd chosen a black skirt suit for the occasion.

"Umm, where should I..?" she asked.

"Through there," the officer indicated the door, currently hanging off its frame, through which the shouty northern man had departed.

"Oh."

She took a deep breath and, sidestepping a police officer who was wrestling with a burly punk, walked through the door.

She found herself in a large office. There were a number of wooden desks, piled high with paperwork. At each desk sat a male plain clothes officer, save for one desk halfway down the room where a harassed female uniformed officer was hard at work. The rest of the men appeared to be on their lunch break, at least they were sitting, feet up on desks, reading papers or chatting; except for one youngish looking man, who was sat, head down, feverishly working on something. Down the far end of the office was another, smaller room, with large windows looking out into the main area. The name on the office door read 'DCI Gene Hunt' and she could see the man from earlier at a desk inside downing a tumblerful of something that looked suspiciously like whisky.

Sarah stood in the doorway, unsure of where to go next, but acutely aware that most of the male officers in the room had now turned their attention to her, and were staring unashamedly. She subconsciously pulled down the hem of her skirt as she walked forward. The female officer caught her eye and smiled in an understanding way.

She cleared her throat. "I have a job interview today. I'm not sure where to go. The letter didn't really say."

"What's going on in here then? I've seen more life in the morgue on bring your dead granny to work day." The gruff snakeskin booted Northern man appeared at the door to the small office. He surveyed the room before his eyes rested on Sarah. "Young lady, you appear to be interfering with my team."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr...err...Hunt?" Sarah stuttered. "I have a job interview..."

"Ah yes. That will be with old four eyes over there," Gene jerked his thumb in the direction of a grey door off the main office. "Lucky you. You lot, back to work."

Gene disappeared back into his office, while Sarah hurried over to the door. She knocked. No response, although she could hear the sound of frantic typing through the door. She knocked again.

"Come."

Sarah opened the door and stepped through. The first thing that hit her was the heat; it must have been thirty degrees at least. It was gloomy too and there was no natural light that she could discern. As her eyes adjusted to the semi darkness she could make out the glow of two electric fires, all three bars blazing. Down one side of the room were a number of filing cabinets, with what must have been hundreds of boxes neatly stacked on top. At the head of the room was a large desk, and behind the desk sat a man hunched over an electronic typewriter. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but instead continued to type hurriedly.

"Excuse me, I..." she began.

He held up his hand to silence her, and pointed to a chair opposite him at the desk. He continued to type one handed as he did so. Sarah sat down as instructed and waited. Up close, she could see that the man was probably in his early thirties, with dark thick hair which was faintly curly, quite short and slicked back with hair gel. He wore a pair of horn rimmed glasses, which he pushed up his nose frequently, a grey suit and tie and a white shirt. Sarah could see a long grey coat hanging on a nearby stand. His desk was immaculately tidy, in contrast to the desks in the other office, and the whole room had a feeling of order about it. His face was set in an expression of the utmost concentration. Above his desk, on the wall, was a large clock which ticked loudly.

Eventually he pulled the piece of paper from the typewriter, and stared at it for a few moments with a satisfied expression on his face. He then laid it carefully in a folder and placed it in a drawer. Finally he turned his full attention to Sarah.

"Miss Sarah Jenkins?" He smiled. "I apologise for my rude behaviour. Deadlines wait for no man, or woman, sadly. DCI James Keats, at your service."

He held out his hand to Sarah, and she shook it. His touch was ice cold, in contrast to the room. Surprise must have registered on her face.

"Poor circulation," he explained. "Hence the heat. You might want to take off your jacket."

Sarah rose and shrugged out of her suit jacket, turning to hang it over the back of her chair. As she turned back she caught his eyes skimming over her, and a blush came to her cheeks. She sat down again, slightly flustered.

"There's really no need to be nervous," he soothed, picking up another folder and leafing through it. "You're more than qualified for this job."

"Well, that's the thing," Sarah said. "I don't exactly know what the job is. A letter arrived inviting me to interview, but I don't remember applying. My memory isn't great recently, but even so. I checked with all my recruitment agents, and they don't remember applying for me either. Maybe it was a mistake?"

"Mistakes happen," Keats smiled at her again. "The job is very simple; some typing, filing, accompanying me to meetings. This is a trial to see if I'm happy with you. I'll be looking to promote you to the position of PA very shortly."

"I've not really done any PA..."

He waved his hand. "A formality. I'm sure you'll be promoted within no time," he picked a sheet of paper from the file. "Tell me, why did you leave nursing?"

"I...I...I'm sorry," Sarah stumbled. "I forgot. It was on the tip of my tongue. How ridiculous."

Keats burst into a peal of laughter. He dropped the file on the desk and sat back in his chair, regarding her with curiosity and amusement.

"You're an interesting one, aren't you? You and I are going to be very good friends, I can tell."

"I have the job?"

"Of course," his smile broadened, showing his teeth. "Be here at 9am sharp tomorrow morning. Now, if you'll excuse me. Deadlines."

"Oh. Of course," Sarah rose, taking her jacket from the chair, and made her way towards the door. She turned back; Keats was already busy with his typewriter again. "Mr...DCI Keats?"

He smiled up at her. "Please, call me James."

"James," she smiled. "Thank you."

She walked through the door, closing it carefully behind her.

Keats' smile dropped. "My pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2

DCI Gene Hunt stared out of the window at the rain. There was a strange feeling in his chest that no amount of whisky seemed to dull. He looked round in time to see that bird from earlier making her way out of the office. Poor tart, having to endure one on one time with that pencil neck prick. He noted that her cheeks were burning; not surprising, given the furnace that was Keats' office. Christ only knows why he insisted on working in a bloody oven. Weird bloke. Gene would be only too pleased when he'd done whatever reports he was working on and crawled back under his stone.

Gene took another sip of whisky and felt it slip down his throat. Something wasn't right. He didn't know if the burning in his chest was copper's intuition, or last night's curry. It was times like this when he missed Alex. She'd have been able to use her psychobabble buggery bollocks to work out what the problem was. Why the hell she'd had to emigrate to God only knows where was beyond him.

There was a knock at his office door, and his mood darkened considerably further when he saw the figure of DCI Keats peering through the glass.

"Jimbo," Gene cried, as Keats entered. "Joy and rapture, my day is complete."

"DCI Hunt," Keats replied. "I came to inform you that I have employed a new secretary, she starts tomorrow."

"Poor girl, she has my deepest sympathies."

"She'll need them for when she is picking through the dirty, filthy minutiae of the countless files I have amassed detailing your every misdemeanour, Hunt. You see, this is a much larger job than I first imagined. I need reinforcements."

"One tart in a mini skirt is hardly the household cavalry."

"I am having her desk sited out in the main office, near my door."

"This is CID. Not the bloody typing pool; stick her in your own office," Gene spat. "You can forget about planting your little spy here."

"It's been cleared with upstairs; speak to them if you've got a problem," Keats went to leave, but turned back. "Oh, and if I catch you abusing her to make your tea, or any such nonsense, there will be ramifications. Just so we understand each other."

"Yes, well you know what you can do with your ramifications," Gene raged to Keats' retreating back. "You can ram them up your arse!"

-

A storm rumbled outside as Sarah checked her clock for the umpteenth time. Three thirty AM. It had been three twenty five AM the last time she checked. God, she needed sleep. An almighty clap of thunder shook the walls.

"Jesus Christ, enough already," she cried to no-one in particular.

She had been lying in bed since eleven PM, but sleep would not come. She was hot and bothered and had tossed and turned for hours. She tried getting up for a while, drinking hot milk, reading a book, and even lavender oil, but nothing doing. It didn't help that the worst storm she could remember seemed to be raging in the sky directly above her head.

Not that she could remember much. Not these days, anyway.

Stress, the Doctors had said. Take it easy, relax and the memories will come back in time. She hoped they were right. A huge portion of her life had been wiped out of her mind. She could remember the past month, well, since she moved in here actually, but everything else was either missing or a fuzzy mess. It was so frustrating. Thank God for this job, she thought. She really needed it, even if she didn't remember applying for it, and it didn't seem like the sort of work she'd ever choose to do. Secretary to a DCI? She'd never typed a letter in her life...that she could remember. Maybe she had? But she was a nurse, at least she used to be...she thought.

He seemed nice though, DCI Keats. A bit uptight perhaps; but then again she was sure she'd caught him checking her out, so maybe not. Maybe behind the grey suit, starched shirt and immaculate tie there was a bit of fire there. Maybe he was...

At that moment a flash of lightning illuminated her bedroom and for an instant she saw a glimpse of a figure in the corner, watching her. It looked like...DCI Keats?

Sarah sat up and fumbled for her bedside light, it was dead. She looked at her clock and saw that was out too; power cut. The room was in complete darkness, save for a few shafts of moonlight which came through the curtains and fell as stripes across the room.

"Hello?" She breathed. "Who's there?"

"Shhhh."

"Who is it? Get OUT!"

"Shhhh."

"I'll scream."

"No you won't," the soft voice of Keats drifted across the room to her. She heard the rustling of his coat as he stepped into the moonlight. "You won't do anything unless I tell you to."

Her fear subsided slightly when she saw it was Keats. After all, he was a copper, right? He wasn't going to hurt her, was he?

"Why are you here?" She demanded, her voice wavering.

Keats smiled. She saw that he was wet through; the rainwater literally dripping off his hair and coat into little puddles on the floor. There was a puff of wind and suddenly he was at the foot of her bed.

"I take a personal interest in all my new recruits," he said in a low voice.

"What?" Sarah asked, confused.

Slowly he crawled onto her bed and made his way up the length of her body, until he was on his hands and knees above her. The rainwater fell in droplets onto her thin nightgown, the water cool against her hot skin. His body was so close to hers that every time she breathed they almost touched. He stared into her, his eyes so dark and deep they seemed to go on forever.

"DCI Keats? I..." she began.

"Shhh," he whispered, his lips only millimetres from her own. "Trust me, Sarah."

She felt his breath mingle with hers. Goosebumps sprung up all along her arms. She could see nothing, but his face before her. It felt as though he was looking inside her, straight into her soul. And he knew everything.

"That's right," he breathed. "I can see it all. Your hopes, dreams, fears. I know what scares you and I know what makes you feel so, so good. I know how to make you cry and I know how to turn you on. I can make you scream out of fear, or in pure ecstasy. Which will it be, Sarah?"

He dipped his head and placed a light breathy kiss to her collarbone. He knew the exact right spot and Sarah moaned and closed her eyes.

"Good girl," he murmured.

She opened her eyes, but he was gone. Daylight streamed through the crack in her curtains. She exhaled hard; it had been a dream. She lay still for a moment, allowing her heart rate to return to normal. Her bed linen and night clothes were wet through; soaked in perspiration. She turned to her bedside clock, it flashed 00.00. Damn, there really had been a power cut. She sat up and squinted through the half light at the clock on her wall.

No. It couldn't be. It said 8.45.

Shit!

She jumped out of bed and dashed into the bathroom, in such a panic that she did not notice the small puddle of water at the foot of her bed as she ran through it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the favourites so far! This is my first A2A fanfic ever, so any comments would be very much appreciated.**

At 9.45am Sarah hurried through the doors to the main CID office. Gene's team was in a briefing, and all eyes turned as she made her noisy entrance. This wasn't exactly shaping up to be a textbook first day in a new job.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Lady Muck, you're late," Gene barked. "And by the looks of you, it's been a rough night. What happened? Boyfriend get in late from the boozer and wake you up for a bit of slap and tickle?"

Sarah felt her cheeks burn as a few of the team snickered.

"Jimbo is in his office, but I warn you; he's got a stick up his jacksie about punctuality."

"And Miss Jenkins was running an errand for me first thing this morning, hence her tardiness," Keats appeared behind Hunt. "Good morning Sarah, I trust you completed your task."

"Yes, DCI Keats," Sarah said quietly, her cheeks flaring a deeper shade of red as she caught sight of the man from her dream.

"Jolly good. Well, here is your desk, get yourself settled then join me in my office. Bring a notepad and pen," Keats indicated a brand new desk between his office and Gene's, then spun on his heel and walked away. "As you were, Hunt."

Sarah noticed Gene scowl as Keats left. There was obviously something going on between the two men that she had no desire to find herself in the middle of. She hurried to her desk as the briefing resumed, and quietly stowed her belongings, before grabbing her notepad and pen and following Keats to his room. When she entered, Keats was sat behind his desk, with his back to her. She made her way to the chair in front of his desk and sat.

"Tell me," he asked softly. "What time do you start work?"

"Nine AM," she replied. "I am really sorry. There was a power cut and..."

"And what time is it now?"

"Nine fifty," she admitted.

"Not the best start," he spun his chair round to face her, his face grave. "Is it?"

"No," she agreed. "It's not."

He got up from his desk and rounded the table, until he was perched on the edge in front of Sarah. "Punctuality is very important to me. Punctuality and tidiness. I like order, is that clear?"

"Yes," Sarah looked up at him. He was very tall and towered over her where she sat. "I'm sorry, DCI Keats."

"We'll say no more about it," he inclined his head. "And I told you to call me James."

"Of course, James," she said, but she couldn't stop staring at his mouth and remembering her dream.

"Are you alright, Sarah?" he asked. "You seem rather distracted this morning."

She blushed again. "Yes, yes, I'm fine really. Just I...I had a very disturbed night's sleep. Nerves, you know."

Keats reached over and laid a hand softly on her shoulder.

"Hey, there's no need to be nervous," he smiled. His thumb rubbed in small circles on her silk blouse. "I don't bite. Hard."

She looked at him in surprise and he held her gaze for a few seconds, before laughing. Her nerves began to dissipate and she laughed too.

"There, that's better. I like my staff to be happy. You see some pretty nasty things in my line of work, so it's important that we support each other."

"What exactly is it that you do?" asked Sarah.

Something dark flashed across Keats' face, then he began laughing again. "Oh, the job?" He giggled as he rounded the table and sat in his chair. "I...we work for a department called Discipline and Complaints. I am investigating DCI Gene Hunt..."

"The man out there," she said.

Keats smiled. "Yes, you catch on quickly. That's good. I am specifically interested in the disappearances of DI Alex Drake, DI Ray Carling, DC Christopher Skelton and DC Sharon Granger."

"Disappearance?"

"Yep, like that...poof! Into thin air. According to Hunt they all suddenly decided to leave the force and then they just fell off the radar. Except that's not possible; you know that and I know that. So I'm going to find out what happened and you're going to help me," he grinned. "We're a team now, you and me." His face grew dark. "But I have to warn you. Hunt is a dangerous individual. He'll trick you and twist you and try to pull you onto his side. Be careful of him, Sarah. I promise I will protect you, but you need to trust me. Do you understand? There must be no secrets between us."

Sarah stared at him wide eyed. She hadn't expected this. This sounded a lot more complicated than a bit of filing and typing and taking minutes. But a job was a job.

"If you see anything unusual, anything odd at all, you must tell me. You promise?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good, then that's agreed," he smiled. "Shall we get you started? These files," he indicated a stack on his desk. "I need you to go through and catalogue any references to Gene Hunt, Alex Drake, Ray Carling, Chris Skelton and Shaz Granger. Can you do that for me?"

"No problem."

She took the pile of files and went back to her desk. She stashed the bulk of them in her drawer, removing just the top one and sat down. She opened it and began to read. It was a grizzly murder case and suddenly she was very pleased she hadn't had the time for breakfast.

"You get used to it," a voice said.

Sarah looked up and the WPC from across the office was stood by her desk, smiling. "Kelly. Nice to meet you."

Sarah shook her hand. "Sarah. Pleased to meet you too."

"You're not a copper are you?" Kelly asked.

"No, just a secretary."

"Well, if you want anything at all, just ask me. Okay?" Kelly smiled. "It can get a bit crazy around here."

As if on cue, Gene appeared at his doorway. "Plonk, tea, seven sugars. And stop consorting with the bloody enemy."

"I take it he means me?" Sarah asked quietly.

"Afraid so, sorry," Kelly whispered. "Don't worry, it's not you personally. It's Keats. To say they don't hit it off would be the understatement of the decade."

"Plonk! Tea!"

"I'll bring you a brew," Kelly said as she retreated.

"Thanks."

Gene strutted over to Sarah's desk and perched himself on the edge, staring down at her.

"What's he got you doing then?" He questioned. "Trawling the files for every time I farted and forgot to say pardon?"

"No, not particularly," Sarah muttered, closing the file she was working on. "We haven't properly been introduced. My name is Sarah Jenkins and I am DCI Keats' new secretary. Can I help you DCI Hunt?" she asked brightly.

"Let's get the ground rules straight. I'm sure you're a very nice girl and all but, frankly, I don't want you here. Nothing personal, but any friend of Keats is about as welcome as a pork chop at a Bar Mitzvah."

Despite herself Sarah giggled. Gene paused, the wind taken out of his sails momentarily. Suddenly this was a bit like kicking a puppy. Keats' puppy, admittedly, but still a puppy.

"Anyway, Lady Muck, I don't want you distracting my staff. They have a job to do and while you and Jimbo are busy running around after us making sure we wash our hands after going to the toilet, we have a very nasty little scrote to catch."

"That nutter going around attacking young girls? I saw it on the news," Sarah said. "Awful. I hope you catch him."

"I hope we do too, love," Gene sighed, "but lay off my staff, got it?" He added gruffly.

"Hunt, can I help you with something?" Keats was right behind her chair. She hadn't heard him approach.

"No, just introducing myself to your new skirt...sorry I meant secretary," Gene grinned.

Keats put his hands on her shoulders, possessively. "If you don't mind, Sarah is rather busy."

"I'm sure you'll keep her hard at it, Jimbo," Gene wandered off back to his office whistling.

Keats hissed something under his breath that she couldn't quite make out. Suddenly a sharp pain coursed through her head. She gasped and her vision fogged for a moment. When it cleared Keats was in front of her, his face full of concern.

"What happened?" He asked, his hands came to her face tenderly and he ran his fingers across her cheeks.

"Nothing, just a headache, I skipped breakfast. It's gone now," she smiled. "I'm fine."

"Sarah you have to look after yourself. Go to the canteen and get something, that's an order."

"Okay, I will. Where is it?"

He smiled. "I'll take you, come on. I could murder a coffee."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for all the favourites. This chapter has a brief description of a crime scene that is a bit nasty. You have been warned.**

Gene watched Keats and Sarah leave. He had a nagging headache and the odd feeling in his chest was back. Fun as it was to find new ways of tormenting Keats, he didn't really want to drag the new skirt into the middle of it all.

Last time they'd come to blows Alex, Ray, Chris and Shaz had each gotten caught in the crossfire, and they'd left the force. God only knows where they ended up, but each had declined to keep in touch. Chris and Shaz he could sort of understand, they were probably all sprogged up somewhere, and Ray was hardly the sort of bloke to write a letter, or phone for a chat. But Alex? Given that usually he could barely shut her up, he could only assume that she'd deliberately chosen to break off contact.

Bloody Keats and his D and C bastards. He'd like to punch that stupid smug smile right off his stupid smug face. But it wouldn't help, and Gene would be the one who ended up worse off for it. Nope, it was the long game that mattered with Keats, and Gene intended to score as many small victories as he could amass along the way.

His office door opening interrupted his chain of thought.

"Guv," DI John Simpson, his newest recruit, poked his head around the door. "There's been another one."

Within seconds Gene was in the Merc and heading for the scene of the crime. John was filling him in on the details.

"Madeleine Jacobs, 17 years old, on her way home after a night out with friends. They said goodbye to her at around 2.30am outside Expressions nightclub. She never made it back to her house. A street sweeper found her this morning in an alleyway behind the club, she barely got around the corner."

Gene scowled. All his troubles seemed insignificant in comparison to this. Some sick bastard getting his kicks by murdering young girls. Five, now six, in the last month, all aged between 17 and 20. There was no reason, no rhyme to the killings. None of the girls had been robbed, nor sexually molested in any way. There wasn't even any evidence to suggest that the murderer had laid a finger on the bodies. It was as if someone was simply smacking them over the head and leaving them to die where they fell.

Gene had seen almost everything in his time as a copper, and could usually see the motive for most crimes, even if it sickened him, but this left him completely stumped. Once again he cursed Alex for leaving him. She was the one who was good at figuring out all this stuff.

They arrived at the crime scene and Gene stood back as the forensics team did their work. The murder scene was horrific, even by his jaded standards. The girls' skull had been caved in, and the blood, spread by the rain, had turned the entire area a deep, sticky red. That wasn't the worst of it; the dead girl had this look on her face, frozen there at the moment of death. It was utter terror. The other girls had been the same.

Gene was busy giving orders to his team when he saw the PC lifting the police tape to allow Keats and Sarah through. Keats strode ahead purposefully towards Hunt, while Sarah hesitated at the edge of the cordon, notepad in hand.

"Ah, I wondered what the smell was." Gene said loudly.

"Report," Keats demanded, ignoring him.

"Dead girl, Madeleine Jacobs, 17 years old. Blunt force trauma to the skull. Found at ten AM this morning by a road sweeper," DI Simpson pointed to a pale elderly man, who was very obviously in deep shock, being tended to by paramedics. "No signs of robbery or sexual assault."

"Same M.O. as the others," Keats mused. He went to walk toward the corpse.

"You shouldn't have brought her here," whispered Gene, indicating Sarah. "She's not a plonk, just a typist."

"She's got to learn," Keats hissed back. "Police work is a nasty, dirty business, Gene. The sooner she realises it the better motivated she will be to help me eradicate scum like you." He turned back to where Sarah was standing. "Sarah, with me please. I may need you to take notes."

Sarah reluctantly joined her boss, keeping her eyes on the ground. Gene caught her arm.

"He can't force you to be here, love," he began. "He's more than capable of taking his own stupid notes; assuming he knows how to read and write, that is."

"Thank you, DCI Hunt," Keats gripped Gene's arm hard and pushed him off of Sarah. "Come on."

Keats walked towards the body. Sarah followed, her skin paling with every step. He stopped at the foot of the corpse and stared.

"Can you believe the evil some men are capable of, Sarah?" He asked.

Sarah kept her eyes averted. "No."

"I mean, look at the expression on her face. What happened to her?"

She kept looking away.

"Sarah, I need you to catalogue the crime scene, write down everything you observe here about the body, the surroundings. I don't trust Hunt's team. This is the sixth dead girl this month. They're missing something. We need an independent record."

Tears pricked Sarah's eyes as she forced herself to take in the scene before her. The girl was so young and so beautiful. But the blood. And the look on her face.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this." Sarah thrust her notepad at Keats and turned and ran, past Gene, back under the cordon and to where the police cars were parked. Unseen, Keats allowed himself a small smile.

"Oi, what's this? Are you respraying my car a lighter shade of puke?" Gene caught up with Sarah as she vomited her canteen breakfast by the Merc's rear wheel. "Alright, alright love, better out than in."

He waited as she finished being sick, and handed her a tissue.

"Napkin from Luigi's. There might be a bit of dried tomato on there, but it'll do."

She straightened up, wiping her mouth. "Thank you."

"He shouldn't have brought you here. I thought D and C were supposed to be by the book. Secretaries at bloody crime scenes, for God's sake," Gene grumbled.

"I should have been able to deal with it," Sarah said. "I'm not cut out for this job. I'm not strong enough. I can't just look at something like that and feel nothing."

"Neither can I," Gene muttered. "And anyone who can shouldn't be in this bloody job in the first place, they should be in the funny farm with all the other nutters. Don't you worry love. You only did what we'd all like to."

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Keats emerged from behind Gene and walked over to Sarah. He put his hands on her shoulders gently. "Are you alright?"

"No she's bloody not," Gene raged. "She's just thrown up her breakfast all over my car. I don't know what you think you're playing at Keats, but this is my crime scene, not some ruddy peep show."

"Come on, I'll take you for a coffee." Keats slipped an arm around Sarah's shoulder and led her away, throwing a baleful glare at Gene over his shoulder.

Gene kicked the Merc's tyre in anger. "Simpson, get one of those bloody PCs to clean this puke off my car, pronto."

Sarah sat in Luigi's drinking the hot, sweet tea that Keats had ordered for her. Her colour had returned and she had started to feel slightly more normal again, although her head was pounding. Keats sat next to her sipping from an espresso mug and watching her carefully.

"Are you alright now?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm sorry to make such a fuss," she sighed. "It's not exactly been a great first day so far, has it?"

"It's my fault," Keats placed his cup back on the saucer. "I should never have taken you to the crime scene. Please forgive me." He turned towards her, his eyes imploring. "The thing is, Hunt really needs to catch the man who is responsible for those murders. But he hasn't. So all the time more girls end up like the poor, sorry wretch you saw today. And that makes me angry, Sarah. I'm angry that more young women are going to be slaughtered for the sake of that dangerous little man and his ridiculous empire." He covered her hand with his and squeezed it. "That's why what we are doing is so important. We need to bring him down, Sarah. I need to dismantle his department and build a new one that works, and I need you to help me. Now do you see why this is so important?"

Sarah thought for a moment. "Yes, I suppose I do."

His fingers idly caressed her hand. It felt nice. He was looking into her eyes, the same way he had in her dream.

"Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace and there shall be none."

"Pardon?" Asked Sarah.

"Ezekiel, seven twenty five," Keats explained. "Sorry, force of habit. Biblical upbringing."

"You're an interesting man, James Keats," Sarah smiled.

"You have no idea."


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING - sexual adult content ahead. Please don't read if that offends you. If it doesn't, read on - and comment...please?**

On Friday afternoon Sarah was replacing files in one of the many cabinets that lined Keats' office wall. As always, it was blistering hot and her head was throbbing. She had not managed to shake off this headache all week, and it was becoming a nuisance.

The first week of her new job hadn't exactly been plain sailing after her terrible first day. There had been no more murders and no more corpses to catalogue, but that was the only saving grace. She just wasn't a typist, she couldn't file, and reading about one grizzly murder after another made her feel constantly nauseous. Hunt's team had been aloof and distant, all except Kelly, who would give an encouraging smile or a friendly word. James had told her to bring all her questions to him, but she hated bothering him with so many little things, especially as he seemed so busy either on his typewriter, or off to meetings with his boss, Dave. She generally felt confused.

Not that James didn't give her his time. The opposite actually, he seemed to have all the time in the world for her. He took her to lunch at Luigi's every day, introducing her to the new owner. They sat at the same table every time, discussing the investigation over a bowl of pasta. Then they would linger over coffee or sometimes share a dessert, and he would make her laugh with funny stories about his team in D&C. He promised to arrange a visit there soon, so she could meet everyone for herself. In fact, once his investigation into Hunt was complete, she would transfer there full time, as his PA. She was looking forward to it, even if she couldn't understand his confidence in her, given her abject failure in the role thus far.

Gene was keeping his distance. Unsurprising really, given the circumstances. She thought that he seemed like an okay guy really, a bit loud and rough around the edges, but basically a decent copper. But what did she know? James told her he was a dangerous man, that this 'diamond in the rough' persona was all just a facade for a deeply disturbed individual. One who was responsible for the murders of six of his previous colleagues. Every day more files appeared on her desk, and every day he told her she was getting closer to the truth. That soon this would be finished, and they'd be in D&C full time.

There had been an almighty row just yesterday. From what she could gather, James wanted to mount a sting operation to catch the murderer, by placing female police officers in plain clothes around strategic points in the killer's known area. The idea was that this would lure him out. Gene was dead against the idea, arguing that he could not guarantee the officers' safety and "the last thing I need is a dead bloody plonk in the morgue". The shouting could be heard all the way down to the cells, as James accused Gene of being "short sighted" and "a dinosaur" and Gene bellowed that Keats was "a stupid pen pushing prick" and other expletives that she didn't care to recall. She'd ended up in the middle of that one when the majority of the argument took place over her desk.

She closed the cabinet and rested her forehead against it for a few moments. Even the metal felt warm. She'd had terrible sleep this week, not helped by the fact that the UK was suffering the worst storms on record. It was raining incessantly, and the thunder and lightning was constant and fierce. The news was full of stories of flooding in the rural areas of the country and the government had set up an emergency commission to deal with the damage. But the constant clatter of rain wasn't the only reason for her insomnia.

James. She couldn't stop dreaming about James. Every night she would close her eyes and there he was, in the corner of her room, watching her; his eyes glittering in the moonlight and a half smile on his face. He did not move; he did not speak. He simply watched in silence.

Until last night.

She could hear the rain beating down outside, and the wind howling in protest, but inexplicably her bedroom was like a sauna. She peeled back her bed sheets and got out of bed, tugging her silk nightdress over her head and discarding it on the bedroom floor as she went. She winced as she switched on the bathroom light, the harsh glow sharp against her eyes, and quickly turned it off again. She padded back into the bedroom and picked up the chunky pillar candle from her bedside table and lit it, bringing it back into the bathroom with her and placing it on the sink. She opened the glass door of the shower cubicle, stepped inside and switched on, allowing the soft, cool water to cascade over her. She closed her eyes, feeling the water run through her hair and over her naked body, and relaxed. After a moment, she opened her eyes. James was watching her intently from behind the glass.

She shrieked in surprise and backed up against the tiles. He smiled and brought his finger to his lips. He shrugged off his coat and allowed it to fall to the floor. Next his suit jacket followed, then his tie and finally, he removed his glasses. He opened the shower door and stepped inside. Immediately his white shirt became transparent under the stream of water, clinging to the lines and muscles of his torso and arms. He pushed his body against Sarah, pinning her to the tiled wall.

"James..." she began.

"Shhhh."

His full lips met hers and he kissed her softly, his tongue exploring her mouth. He ran his cool hands up her body, finding her breasts, where his long slender fingers pinched and rolled her nipples. She moaned into his mouth.

"I made a covenant with my eyes not to look lustfully at a girl. Job thirty-one, one," he breathed.

He kissed her again, fiercely this time, his teeth grazing her lower lip. She ran her hands over his back, pulling at his wet shirt to free it from his waistband. He stepped back and looked at her, his eyes dark and hooded. He shook his head and grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms up above her head against the wall. The water pulsed over them as his lips went to her neck and he kissed her with a bruising ferocity, his teeth nibbling the flesh there. She threw her head back and whimpered, as he traced his lips down her chest, taking each of her nipples into his mouth in turn, licking and teasing them, before continuing down over the small dome of her stomach until he was on his knees before her. He brought his hands to rest on her hips and looked up into her eyes. She saw fire reflected in his pupils, as he smiled knowingly.

He brought his lips to her mound and placed a soft kiss there. His tongue darted out and swept lightly over her clit. She gasped, and buried her fingers in his wet, dark, curls. He pulled her thigh over his shoulder and ran his tongue lazily over her pussy, pausing to probe inside. She felt her knees weaken and it was all she could do to remain upright.

James flicked his tongue over her clit, sliding one hand up her thigh. His long fingers soon found the entrance to her core, and he teasingly pushed one inside. She moaned softly as slowly slipped his finger in and out, all the while lapping rhythmically at her.

Sarah could feel her orgasm building. The pulse between her legs began to grow and become more intense with each movement of James' fingers and tongue. Her breathing became ragged and her spine bucked against the cold tiles. She cried out as the sensations reached a crescendo, filling her body with white heat. The waves seemed to crash over her for an eternity, while James continued to skilfully caress her with his tongue. When he was satisfied that she had climaxed fully he slid himself back up her body, kissing her softly once more so that she could taste herself on his lips.

He wrapped his arms around her and murmured into her ear. "You tempted me."

She had awoken in bed, with a start. Her new alarm, an old fashioned, wind-up clock, jangled beside her. She switched it off and looked around confused. Her hair was damp and the candle was gone from her bedside table. She wandered into the bathroom to find it still alight on the sink. She must have been sleepwalking. That was the only possible explanation.

The thing was, she considered, as she rested against the filing cabinet, she had liked the dream. Really liked it. She blushed as she thought about it now, bringing one hand to her neck and tracing the path of his lips with her fingers. She felt a pleasant tingle between her legs as she began to remember his tongue there, his fingers. She had noticed his fingers this week, how long and slender they were. She loved the crackle of electricity she felt every time they touched her. She observed him when he was busy on the typewriter, or talking on the phone. She liked his dark, shiny, thick hair and how the gel he wore every day didn't quite tame the curly tendrils coming away from his head at the sides and back. When he took off his suit jacket she could see the outline of his slim, wiry body underneath. She thought about that body pressed against her in the shower and a small moan escaped her lips.

"Are we daydreaming, Miss Jenkins?" Keats murmured.

Sarah could feel his breath on her neck, ruffling her hair. He was stood very close behind her. She made no attempt to move, and neither did he.

"Recalling a dream, James," the words were out before she realised what she had said.

"Obviously a very good one," he breathed. He moved closer and leaned one hand on the cabinet next to her. She could feel the material of his shirt brushing against her blouse. "I think dreams are the soul's way of telling us our deepest, darkest desires."

Her breathing quickened and she felt beads of sweat form on her chest. "I think you're right."

"I want to take you to dinner tonight. To celebrate your first week, and our new...friendship."

Finally she turned to face him. She flattened her back against the filing cabinet, yet still their bodies were grazing each other. His eyes were two black holes she could tumble into and keep falling for all eternity. She thought of the flame she had seen there last night and a small smile played on her lips.

"I'd like that."

"I'll collect you at eight," he smiled. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, placing a cool kiss there for a few seconds, before turning and leaving the office.

Sarah relaxed and exhaled deeply. Her heart raced and her cheeks burned with excitement. She had a feeling that tonight could be very interesting indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

**WARNING - once again this contains adult sexual themes - please don't read if this offends you**

Gene took a swig of beer and surveyed the room. It was busy in Luigi's this evening; the new manager was attracting a younger clientele and the place was buzzing. Almost all of Gene's team were present, in varying states of intoxication, save for young John, who was off being noble somewhere; probably. He's not really fitting in yet, thought Gene, and he was prone to talking the same sort of bollocks as Sam and Alex had been. Christ, he sure could pick the nutcases.

Gene's black mood wasn't just down to the vagaries of his young DI.

His eyes roamed the bar once more, narrowing as they alighted upon Keats sat at a table in the corner, having what looked like a very cosy dinner with his new secretary. Something was seriously wrong in the world when a prick like Keats could pull a decent looking bird like that within a few days of meeting her. She must have a screw loose somewhere, he decided; that, or Keats is gifted in some department Gene didn't even want to think about. There was something about the two of them together that was as wrong as a nun in red lace knickers. He watched for a while. Keats had ramped up the oily charm, and was all smiles and laughter; the same way he had been with Alex in this very place not so long ago.

Alex. Gene's thoughts drifted unbidden. Just like Tyler, suddenly something came up and she was gone. That was it. The details were hazy now; had he really hit the bottle that hard in the weeks after her departure? He remembered a kiss on a dark street, then nothing. He shook his head, trying to remember, but it was like wading through treacle. All these vague snatches of memory. Chris and Shaz, arm in arm walking away. Ray, looking at him sadly. Alex, completely lost, crying. Keats. Keats laughing.

He was always there. Always the devil on Gene's shoulder, pouring his poison in Gene's ear. Watching everything; waiting for Gene to make a mistake; a coiled snake waiting to strike.

Gene drained his beer and motioned for another. The pasta before him had long since gone cold. He felt as sick as a ruddy dog. He had nothing on these murders and every trail they went down turned into a wild bloody goose chase. Keats was all over him like a bad dose of the clap. Something had to give, and Gene had the nasty feeling that 'something' was going to be female, late teens/early twenties, and sporting a nasty knock to the head.

He looked up in time to see Keats pulling Sarah up on the dance floor, avoiding the half drunk couples staggered about clinging to each other. Careless Whisper played on the jukebox, as Keats pulled her closer and whispered something, making her laugh. Gene watched as Keats hand slid down her back and onto her arse. Outside downstairs already? Bastard. Keats' eyes met his and he gave an oily smile. Gene scowled back.

"Antonio, just bring me a bottle of whisky."

My boss has just put his hand on my arse, Sarah thought stunned.

It had been a very nice evening, thus far. James was good company, funny, intelligent and really quite sweet, but he was very old fashioned. He'd turned up on the dot of eight, bearing roses, and once they'd arrived at Luigi's he'd insisted on ordering for her. He'd asked for the most expensive champagne on the menu and had kept her glass topped up all evening.

The whole week had just been surreal. A job offer from absolutely nowhere, dead bodies, feuding DCIs and now she was out on a date with her new boss. How did that happen? She should really have called it a night by now, but there was something about him; something she couldn't put her finger on. When he talked it was like they were the only two people on Earth. It felt weird, and yet she couldn't tear herself away from him. Plus there were those dreams, and every time she recalled them she felt a flush come to her cheeks.

So here she was, in a corny Italian restaurant with her boss who had his hand on her backside. And she kind of liked it. His skin was cool, and felt good pressed up against her, as it had in her dreams. She laid her head on his shoulder and he pulled her to him even tighter, resting his head on hers. He smelt faintly of woodsmoke, with a bit of tobacco mixed in. It was quite intoxicating.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to know if it would feel like it had in her dream.

She hooked her hand behind his neck, lacing her fingers through his soft curls and brought her lips to his. He kissed her softly, his tongue tickling her lower lip. She smiled against his mouth. He kissed her again, this time passionate and hard, his tongue probing her mouth, tasting her. His grip on her tightened and he pulled her pelvis to his, crushing them together and leaving her in no doubt as to his obvious desire for her. Finally they parted, panting for breath.

"Let's get out of here," he muttered.

Without waiting for a reply he grabbed her hand and went back to the table. He pulled on his coat and threw a handful of notes down, before putting his arm around her and escorting her through the door, pausing only to turn back to Gene and smile and wave.

Gene downed his whisky; fucking bastard, he thought as Keats disappeared into the night.

Keats gripped Sarah's arm tightly as he walked her around the corner and into the alleyway behind Luigi's. Suddenly he threw her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her lungs. His body covered hers immediately, like a wild animal on its prey. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her with a ferocious passion.

"Lust is a sin," he whispered, "but it's always been a personal favourite of mine."

She could barely see his face in the moonlight, but his eyes flashed like fire before her. He kissed her again, pushing his body into her so she could feel his hardness straining through his trousers against her stomach. She slipped her hands under his jacket and pulled at his shirt until it came free of his waistband; running her hands under the material to roam over the smooth skin of his back and chest. He moaned into her mouth and ran his own hands over her body, one cupping her breast while the other raked down her thigh. He kissed down her neck to her chest, his tongue tracing cool circles against her skin. She trailed her fingers to his stomach, running them down along the length of the bulge just below. He growled, his teeth scraping the flesh of her neck. She unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock free, massaging it slowly with her hand. With all her strength she pushed him backwards and flipped him around so she now had him pressed against the wall. He raised an eyebrow.

"Now I have you where I want you," she smiled.

She sunk to her knees, not caring how the ground was cold and wet beneath her, and looked up at him coquettishly. She leaned forward and ran the tip of her tongue up his length, from root to tip. He shuddered, putting his hand on the back of her head and lacing his fingers through her hair. She took the tip into her mouth, running her tongue around to taste the salty liquid there. A low growl came from his throat and he tightened his grip on her hair. She licked back down along the vein on the underside of his cock, then flicked her tongue lightly against his balls. He growled again and she smiled, enjoying this moment of absolute power over him. She placed nibbling, light kisses all the way up, then paused, before taking the full length of him into her mouth. He gasped as he guided himself in and out of her mouth, sucking at him greedily, her tongue massaging him. Suddenly he pulled her back.

"I want you," he breathed. "Now."

He pulled her up and pushed her back against the wall. He trailed his hands up her dress and ripped her lace underwear away. His fingers found her pussy and he pushed two fingers inside her, enjoying the amazing heat he found. He smiled as his thumb circled her clit and she threw her head back and moaned with pleasure. As in her dream, she felt the sensations of climax begin to build under his skilled touch. He watched her carefully as he began to bring her to orgasm, and when he sensed she was at its precipice, he lifted her against the wall and buried his cock deep inside her. She wrapped her legs around him as he began to move, each stroke pushing her further and further over the edge into orgasm. When she came she screamed and held him tight as he continued to thrust into her, his own climax building until eventually he roared as he exploded inside her.

Sated, he held her tightly in the shadows of the alley for a few more moments, before adjusting his clothes and stepping back into the bright light of the main road to hail them a taxi.


	7. Chapter 7

The ringing of the phone ripped Sarah from her sleep. Cradled in James' strong arms, she closed her eyes, trying to block out the incessant noise. Keats stirred.

"Miss Jenkins, would you please answer the phone?" He mumbled sleepily.

She smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek, before dragging herself out of bed to the phone.

"Hello," she yawned into the receiver.

"Miss Jenkins? This is PC Martin from Fenchurch East. We're trying to contact your DCI, Jim Keats. He's not answering his home phone, might you know where we can trace him?"

She smiled at the sleep fuzzy DCI in her bed. "I might be able to raise him."

"He asked to be informed of any developments on the serial killer case. Another body has been discovered this morning."

"Oh," Sarah immediately snapped into work mode, grabbing a pen and paper and noting down the details and location of the latest victim. "I'll make sure he knows straightaway."

She replaced the receiver. Keats was already wide awake and out of bed getting dressed.

"Another victim, by the railway off the industrial estate. They think she's been there since yesterday afternoon," she said. "Do you want me to come with you?"

He paused, dressed only in white boxer shorts and an unfastened shirt. Her eyes travelled up his muscular legs to his slim hips and over the small curve of his belly, up to the sprinkling of dark hair across his chest. She couldn't help but smile as she took in his long neck and his pouting lips, his deep, beautiful brown eyes and his usually tamed hair curling wildly in all directions. He looked irresistible. She wanted to jump on him there and then and drag him back into bed.

"I know what you're thinking," he chided, "and it's filthy." He came to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, dipping his lips close to her ear and whispering "and we'll do that when I get back."

She blushed as she felt her chest flutter with excitement. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her deeply, before pulling her into his chest and enveloping her in his arms.

"No, I don't want you to come with me," he soothed. "I meant what I said before, it was a mistake to take you last time." He kissed her on the head and went back to dressing. "Do you have any hair gel?"

She laughed. "In the bathroom, I'll get it."

The CID office was deserted when Sarah arrived. She dropped her bag at her desk and glanced around. It looked like they'd all left in a hurry, as the place was a mess. But then, it was in a mess all the time anyway, so it was hard to tell.

James had left a few hours ago promising to call later. She had showered and dressed, and felt restless hanging around at home, so decided to come into work in case there was something helpful she could be doing. It felt wrong lounging around watching TV when a girl's body had been abandoned a few miles away. Besides, she felt anxious to be in James' company again. She stopped and shook her head; since when did you become clingy?

She wandered over to the crime board, forcing herself to look at the victim photos displayed there. All six of them, soon to be joined by one more. They were all so young, just kids really. This man had to be stopped. Maybe it was high time James took over and Hunt was retired. He didn't seem to be making any headway on the case.

She rubbed her head, which was throbbing as per usual, and made her way into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and switched it on. As it boiled she allowed her mind to drift back to last night. She couldn't believe she'd had sex with her boss in an alleyway - what the hell had come over her? Once they'd gone back to her flat James had made love to her all over again. He couldn't wait to get the door closed behind them, before he was ripping at her clothes. She glanced into the small mirror that hung above the kitchen sink, and blushed when she saw a small purple bite mark on her neck. She adjusted the collar of her shirt to cover it, smiling at the memory. She thought about going shopping later and buying some really nice lace underwear for tonight.

"Tea, seven sugars," the gruff voice of Gene Hunt brought her round from her daydream. "Actually, better make that ten. It's been a hell of a morning."

Sarah pulled another mug from the cupboard, threw in a teabag, and added ten spoons of sugar.

"It'll be like syrup," she warned.

"Who do you think you are?" Gene asked. "Mrs PG bloody Tips? When I want your opinion on my tea I'll ask for it."

"Fine," she sighed.

Gene rested heavily against the kitchen worktop. He looked tired and worried. His hair was wet, a result of the persistent rain that was still beating down outside.

"Was it bad?" She asked hesitantly, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"No, it was a ruddy tea party. Kittens licked her to death," he snapped. "What the bloody hell do you think?"

"Sorry. That was a stupid question," she agreed.

The kettle boiled and she poured the hot water into the cups. Silence.

"Sorry," Gene mumbled. "I keep forgetting you're not a plonk. I dunno. I thought I'd seen it all in my time, every dirty nonce and evil scumbag that Hell could throw at me, but this is something different."

Sarah looked at him. He looked old today and, she realised, defeated. Maybe James is winning this battle, she thought. Oddly, it didn't feel good.

"DCI Hunt," she began. "You know what they say; every day's a school day. Just when you think you've seen it all, something comes along and blows you out of the water. That's life. You will catch this guy, I'm sure of it."

"You're stewing my tea," he grumbled.

Sarah quickly scooped the teabags out of the mugs and stirred in milk, before handing one to Gene. He tasted it.

"You make a good cuppa, I'll give you that."

"Thanks, I think."

She went to leave, but Gene grabbed her wrist softly.

"You think we'll get 'im then?" He asked.

She smiled. "I have faith in you."

"Take your hand off her."

Keats stood in the doorway to the kitchen; his face like stone and fury dancing around his eyes.

Sarah pulled her arm back and looked at the floor, unable to meet his angry gaze.

"Sarah, go and wait in my office," he said quietly.

"James, I..."

"NOW!" Keats bellowed.

Sarah fled, leaving Gene and Keats alone in the kitchen.

"Oh, what is it Jimbo?" Gene slurped his tea, noisily. "Couldn't get it up last night?"

Keats' snarled, baring his teeth.

"Yeah, I noticed you turned up in the same clothes this morning as you were wearing at Luigi's last night. It's called being a detective. You should try it some time." Gene laughed. "So, what happened? You couldn't rise to the occasion and now you're worried she's going to come to the Gene Genie to see how real coppers do it?"

Keats stepped forward so he was nose to nose with Gene.

"Getting close to the truth am I, pencil neck?" Hunt taunted.

"If I ever see you so much as glance in her direction again, I will break you," Keats hissed. "Am I clear?"

"Oh jog on, little boy," Gene smirked. "And tell your girlfriend when she wants to try a real man, she knows where to find me."

Keats screamed in rage and grabbed Gene's mug from his hands, throwing it at the wall where it shattered in an explosion of hot liquid and shards of clay.

"You're finished Hunt. Done. Another girl dead, that's seven. Seven too many. I'm shutting you down; one more murder and you're through. Retired. Finished." Keats rolled the words around his mouth, relishing them. "This is a young man's game Hunt, and you're washed up, old, corrupt, broken down. Your energy is gone, Hunt, depleted. Mine is at its peak. But then, Sarah could tell you that."

With a sneer, Keats turned on his heel and marched back through the CID office. Gene scowled. Keats had meant it, one more murder and he was finished. He was out of options.

"Simpson," he yelled as he saw the DI arrive at the other end of the office. "Start rounding up any plonks who look between the ages of 17 and 20. We've got a honey trap to bait."


	8. Chapter 8

Sarah stood in Keats' office, not sure what to do. James was furious. He had expressly told her she was not to speak to Gene Hunt, and there she was telling him she had faith in him. She had only been trying to make him feel better. Why? She considered how she might have managed to lose both her job and her boyfriend all in one morning. That must be a record.

The door crashed open and Keats stood, illuminated in the door frame. He glowered at her, his eyes like two hot coals. Something about him made her shiver involuntarily, despite the heat in the office.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He slammed the door behind him and, as quick as a flash he was across the office and on her. He grabbed her wrists, pinning her to the filing cabinet.

"What did he say to you?" he demanded. She looked at him blankly. "What did he want from you?" He yelled into her face. His fingers dug hard into the flesh of her wrists.

"You're hurting me," she yelped.

He released his grip and backed away, his eyes locked on her all the time.

"I trusted you," he said, his voice low. "Are you making a fool of me?"

"No, James," she implored. "Of course not, I would never do that to you."

"It didn't look that way, out there. 'I have faith in you, Gene,'" he mocked.

"I was just trying to make him feel better," she explained.

"That's not your job!" Keats exploded, sweeping a pile of files off a cabinet with his arm. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm sorry, I felt bad for him. It was stupid," she sobbed.

Keats paced the office, fury barely contained within his wiry body. He ran a hand through his wet hair.

"I've had my doubts about you, all week," he hissed. "You can't type, you can't file. But I thought you were loyal. I prize that most above everything else. Loyalty."

"I am loyal," she argued.

"But to whom?" Keats asked.

"To you, James," she approached him carefully and laid her hands on his chest. "I only want to be with you. Didn't last night prove that?"

He scrutinised her closely, his eyes searching her face. He was silent for a long time. Eventually he walked to his desk and picked up his phone, punching in a number on the keypad.

"It's Jim. Yes. One to transfer," his eyes met Sarah's. "Immediately." He replaced the receiver and produced a key from his pocket. He unlocked his bottom drawer and pulled a videotape from it. It was marked 'Sarah'. "I want you to sit here and watch this."

Sarah crossed to his chair and sat. "What is it?"

"The entrance video for D and C," he smiled. "I think you'll find it very enlightening."

He switched on the VCR and pressed the play button. The screen showed static, which eventually cleared and Sarah caught a glimpse of a room she thought she recognised. Suddenly, behind them the door crashed open. Keats immediately pressed stop on the VCR and the screen died.

"Sorry to interrupt movie night," Gene said. "However, since it was your plan, out of courtesy I am informing you that we are making preparations to deploy the honey trap."

Keats ejected the VCR and threw it back in the bottom drawer, locking it. Immediately he was all business again.

"Good, let's not waste any time," he breezed. "Miss Jenkins, with me please."

Gene walked back into CID where his staff and the available members of the women's constabulary were assembled. Keats and Sarah followed him over.

"Is this it?" Gene asked, looking at the five women stood before him.

"This is it," John nodded. "Short notice, all I could find that fit the profile. There aren't many women who look under twenty around."

"Bloody 'ell," Gene sighed. "Alright, we'll drop you off at each of these points around the area." He indicated a map. "You will all be tailed by one officer. Do not get in any cars, do not try to be a hero. If you feel unsafe, leave the area. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Guv."

Keats checked his watch. "It is eleven hundred hours, we leave in thirty minutes."

The team disbanded as Sarah looked at the victims' photos on the police board again. All these young girls; she wanted to help. She turned to Keats.

"James," she began. "I can look twenty. I could do this."

Keats took her shoulders. "It's very dangerous, you could get hurt."

"Would you tail me?" She asked. "I trust you. Nothing would happen with you there. Let me prove myself to you."

He smiled. "I'll take good care of you, but you need to run it by Hunt. This is still his operation, for now."

Sarah began to walk towards Gene's office. Keats pulled her back.

"Best not tell him I support you in this, or he'll say no. You haven't asked me, okay?" He smiled and tapped his nose. She smiled back and followed Gene to his office, not seeing Keats' smile turn into a shark-like grin as she left.

"DCI Hunt?" She knocked gently on his door.

"Sorry love, I'm a bit busy. About to send several lambs to slaughter," Gene muttered as he pulled his jacket on.

"About that," she stepped into his office. "I'd like to volunteer."

"You?" Gene stopped in his tracks. "You're a secretary love, not a police officer."

"And you're desperate," she countered. "Besides, you'll have someone tracing me all the time. Put me in the lowest risk area if you like, but I want to help."

Gene stared at her. It was ridiculous, but he was running short on options and he was very low on females to make this work.

"What does the lord and master over there say?" Gene asked.

"He doesn't know," she shrugged.

"Well, he's about to find out," Gene puffed as Keats made his way into the office.

"What's this?" Keats demanded. "What's going on here?"

"Well, it appears that your girlfriend has a bigger pair of balls than you, as she has just volunteered to join in our little sting."

"No way. Categorically no," Keats blustered.

"Well, tough luck old pal, because I've just accepted her offer," Gene smiled at Sarah. "You can complain upstairs if you like, but by the time they make a decision we'll have gone and come back again and blagged a very nasty little toerag in the process."

Keats fixed Gene with a steely glare. "If anything happens to her Hunt, anything, it is on your conscience for all of eternity. Is that clear?"

Hunt glared back. "Crystal."

"And I will tail her personally. I don't trust any of your lot with my staff, let alone my girlfriend," Keats stated.

"Fine," Gene agreed. "Now as lovely as this little tete a tete truly is, don't we have a murdering bastard to catch?"

An hour later, Gene pulled on his coat in his office. The rest of the team were already out in the field, but he had been delayed by some ridiculous bit of bureaucracy around seconding other police officers to the sting. He grabbed his car keys and left the office, closing the door behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the door to Jim Keats' office, slightly ajar, a warm orange glow emanating from within. He glanced around, and checked his watch. He had a few moments.

Crossing the office he heard the thunder from outside, as the rain clattered against the windows. If anything, the weather had worsened recently. He hoped the dreadful conditions wouldn't affect the wires the girls were wearing.

Gene pushed open the door to Keats' office. No one home, bar the glowing fires. He closed the door behind him and looked around. He shuddered, too neat. He nosed around for a while, but found nothing particularly interesting, except a few old case files. He sat down in Keats' chair and rifled his drawers. Again, nothing worthwhile. He pondered simply making a big old mess of the place, when his eyes alighted on the locked drawer. Bingo. Gene dashed back to his office and retrieved his crowbar, before returning to Keats' desk and placing the crowbar to the drawer.

"Oops," he whispered as it sprung open. It was empty, save for one videotape marked Sarah. Gene picked it up. What the hell? Something in the back of his mind stirred in warning. He put the tape in the machine and pressed play.

And watched.

Thirty seconds later, DCI Hunt was sprinting through the CID office towards the exit.

"All officers, this is DCI Hunt," he shouted into his radio as he ran. "Request whereabouts of DCI Keats and Sarah Jenkins."

"They're supposed to be on Whitehaven Street Guv, but we can't raise them. We're having trouble with the wires in this weather, and DCI Keats isn't answering his radio."

"Bollocks!"


	9. Chapter 9

**This is it, the final chapter. It's a long one too. Hope you enjoy. Please leave me some feedback, I'd love to know your thoughts.  
**

Sarah picked her way cautiously down the alleyway; she didn't know this part of town at all. She wasn't convinced that her wire was working, as she'd heard nothing but silence for ages. Then again, she didn't know how these things were supposed to work. Perhaps they kept radio silence unless something happened. She felt very exposed in the short denim skirt and jacket they'd put her in. She was also freezing cold, the rain was literally bucketing down and the whole sky was illuminated every few moments with a brilliant array of lightning. It was a storm of almost biblical proportions.

James had been very subdued in the car en route. He was still angry with her, she knew, but this was her chance to prove herself. And it seemed to be working, because when she left him, he had pulled her into a very sweet kiss.

"This is almost finished. Soon we'll be in D and C and all this will be forgotten," he had whispered.

She stopped walking and looked behind, she couldn't see him anywhere, but that wasn't surprising. She guessed he'd be well concealed somewhere.

She turned back and yelped in surprise. James was stood directly in front of her, his hands behind his back. A flash of lightning illuminated the alley, casting him in a strange glow. He stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"You frightened me," she exclaimed.

"Did I?"

"Yes, I wasn't expecting you there."

A roar of thunder boomed across the sky, seemingly shaking the ground under their feet. The pain in Sarah's head intensified, and she brought her hand to her face.

"Not feeling well?" James asked, a faraway tone to his voice.

"My head," she began.

"It will be all over soon," he smiled. "But, I'm afraid, the pain is just beginning."

"What?" she asked.

Something was very, very wrong. Keats slowly brought his hand from behind his back, his fist closed around something. Another flash of lightning revealed a small baton. He took a step towards her, instinctively she stepped back. Around them the storm howled.

"You won't get away from me," he threatened. Suddenly his whole body buckled as if he was in pain. An indescribable noise escaped from deep within his chest.

"James? Are you okay?" Sarah asked, wide eyed.

Keats threw his head back to the sky, laughing hysterically. He straightened up, and stared at Sarah. "You're mine now."

She turned and ran, hearing Keats' footsteps close behind, her high heels slipping and sliding everywhere in the wet weather. In no time, his hands found her arm and he grabbed her, whirling her around to face him.

"Time to report for duty," he raised his arm above his head, ready to bring the baton crashing down on her skull. She screamed.

A fist came whizzing past her ear and connected with Keats' jaw. He stumbled backwards, falling to the ground in a heap. DCI Hunt was on him immediately, cuffing his hands behind his back. In shock, Sarah began to cry.

"It's all right love," Gene wrapped his arms around her. "You're alright. But there's something you need to see."

The drive back to the station had been a strange one. She had sat in the front of the Merc with Gene, while Keats was cuffed in the back. He had laughed all the way; odd, maniacal laughter.

"What's wrong with him?" Sarah asked Gene.

"I can't tell you," he replied. "You need to see for yourself."

Gene led them back to Keats' office. He handed Sarah the tape. Keats stood in the shadows, having fallen strangely silent.

"Put it on," Gene said quietly.

She put the tape in the machine and pressed play.

She saw a hospital room. She recognised it immediately, but she didn't know why. She looked at Gene quizzically.

"Watch," he nodded at the screen.

There was a bed; someone was in it hooked up to monitors and drips. A man in a long grey coat entered the room. Keats. He walked over to the person in the bed, flicking off the monitors as he went. The person in the bed began to shake wildly, as Keats put his hands out as if to touch them.

"Excuse me, sir. What are you doing?"

Sarah's eyes widened as she saw herself enter the room, dressed in a nurse's uniform.

"Sir, step back from that patient. Oh my God!"

On screen, Sarah ran to the bed as she saw the monitors were blank. Keats stepped away as she switched the monitors back on, then hit the emergency button. She jumped on the bed and began performing CPR. Another nurse ran in.

"Where's the crash team?" Sarah demanded.

"Down the hall, with Mr Lucas," the other nurse explained. "Is that the policeman?"

"Yes, he's not breathing," Sarah continued to pump his chest. "Get security, there was a man in here, grey coat, tall, black hair. I think he attacked him."

"I didn't see anyone leave," the other nurse said, confused.

"He was here," Sarah exclaimed.

Suddenly the monitor began to bleep. The policeman gasped and a clear pulse showed on the screen.

"Nice one," the nurse smiled.

Sarah exhaled deeply. "Thank God for that."

The tape then jumped. Sarah saw herself walking along a road in a hurry, on her mobile phone.

"I'm sorry love, we had a security breach today. I had to stay late and give a statement. I'm sorry, I'm on the way now. Ten minutes, I'll take the short cut. Paul, it's broad daylight. I'll be fine. Love you, bye."

She snapped the phone shut and turned into a small wooded path. She walked for two or three minutes when a figure in a long grey coat fell into step beside her.

"Hello again."

She whirled around and froze. Jim Keats stared at her.

"You?" She exclaimed.

"And thine eye shall not pity; but life shall go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot," Keats' spoke quietly. "Deuteronomy nineteen, twenty-one."

He raised his hand above his head and brought a baton crashing down onto her skull. She fell to the floor, unconscious. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from the baton, before placing both back in his coat. He knelt at Sarah's side, and began to move his hands to her face, but he stopped, millimetres from her skin.

"The heat of a living, breathing woman," he inhaled deeply as his eyes closed. "It's been too long." He got to his feet and turned to walk away. "I have a little job for you. See you in Fenchurch East."

The screen fizzled to black.

"I'm sorry love," Gene said quietly.

"I'm dead?" Sarah blinked back tears. "The headaches? He killed me?"

"Shh, it's alright," Gene placed his hand on her shoulder. "Keats, you shouldn't have done this. You've gone too far."

"Oh my God. And all those dreams. Were they real?"

There was a low snicker as Keats emerged from the shadows. "What do you think?" He hissed. "You wanted it to be real. You loved every dirty little second of it. I can sense it when I'm near you, I can smell it on your skin. The heat from your body, Sarah, it's fucking glorious." He threw his hands into the air, shattering the handcuffs as if they were little more than plastic. "You love it, because you belong to me. I claimed you, that makes you my property. Not his. Mine."

Gene pulled her out of the chair and pushed her behind him. "Don't listen to him," he warned.

"Shut up, Hunt," Keats stalked over to where she stood, but Gene pushed him back. He paced like a caged tiger. "You can feel it right now. Look inside your soul, Sarah. How do I make you feel? How does it feel when you're away from me? Don't you feel empty? Don't you want me to fill you again?"

Sarah gasped. Her skin prickled as he spoke, her heart hammering in her chest. His voice did something to her, something physical.

"He has no claim to you," Gene said quietly.

"What's happening to me?" She asked.

"He's done something to you. He's inside your head."

"I'm inside _you_, Sarah," Keats smiled. "Can't you feel me there? I can be there for all eternity."

"Shut him out," Gene whispered urgently.

"Fear or ecstasy, Sarah. You made your choice. I kept my side of the bargain, now you keep yours." Keats stood still and held out his hand to her. "Come with me."

Gene looked at her. "Do not go with him."

Sarah's mind whirled. Every fibre of her body screamed at her to go to James; to surrender to his touch; to feel the coolness of his lips pressed hard against hers. She shook her head. Fragments of her old life were beginning to reveal themselves in the dust of her consciousness, slotting together like jigsaw pieces. She remembered her old job as a nurse, her flat, her friends and her family. She remembered her old life.

Slowly she walked toward Keats, throwing off Gene's hand as he grabbed for her arm.

"No," Gene yelled.

Sarah stood before Keats. He smiled at her beatifically, bringing his cold hands up to cradle her face. "That's my good girl."

Sarah smiled at him, then brought her knee swiftly to his groin. He cried out and doubled over in pain before her, falling to his knees.

"Fuck you," she spat.

On the floor, Keats began to shake. He threw his head back, laughing loudly. "You already did."

Disturbed, Sarah backed away and Gene put himself between her and Keats again.

"I think the lady just told you to fuck off, son," Gene growled.

Keats pulled himself to his feet. He staggered across the office, laughing in a strange high pitched voice. Abruptly he spun around and roared in fury. He tipped his desk over, snarling and hissing as papers flew everywhere. He turned towards Gene and Sarah and began to advance. Gene and Sarah backed away, until they were flat against the wall.

Suddenly from overhead there was an almighty roar, and the roof of the office came away, revealing the storm ravaged sky. The rain pelted down on Gene, Sarah and Keats as lightning streaked and thunder rumbled.

"You couldn't just let him die, could you?" Keats screamed, his voice almost lost into the roar of the wind. "That soul was mine, and you stole it. The bible says an eye for an eye, so now your soul is mine. And I want it. I already have your body. Give me the rest."

"What in hell are you?" Sarah gasped.

Keats smiled. "Maybe you should ask 'who'?"

An almighty bolt of lightning struck the floor of the office, throwing all three of them off their feet. Gene pulled himself up to his knees, enraged.

"You stupid, four eyed freak!" He cried, crawling towards where Keats lay. "What have you done? You can't break the rules and think that him upstairs is going to lie back and take it."

"I already did it. I won," Keats laughed. "And it feels great."

"You bloody fool," Gene yelled, grabbing Keats by the lapels. "Can't you see what's happening here? It'll destroy everyone. You included."

Keats howled into the wind. "Not me, I'll be safe downstairs. And not Sarah, she'll be with me. My consort...consort? No, that's not it. Concubine. Yes, I like the sound of that. Concubine...slave? I always fancied having a slave. Anyway, I win Hunt. Not the way I expected, but I still win."

"What the hell is going on?" Sarah demanded.

"He broke the rules," Gene explained. "Coppers get sent here when they die, or are close to it. They come here to sort themselves out, before they pass on. Most go upstairs, and one or two, they go down there with him. But the point is, they get sent here first. Jimbo does not get to go up there and choose them like it's his own personal pick and mix."

"Rules are for breaking," Keats grinned. "You know that better than anyone."

"What is it, Keats? Your recruitment figures down this month? Resorting to desperate measures?"

"I don't understand," Sarah cried against the clatter of the rain. "Why didn't you just take me straight to wherever it is you wanted me to go? Why did you bring me here? Was it so you could have your sick fun with me first? Are you that desperate for a girlfriend?"

Keats sneered. "Don't flatter yourself. You were just useful."

"There never was a serial killer. It was always Keats," Gene said, wiping the rain from his eyes. "He brought you here with the express intention of murdering you during the investigation, killing two birds with one stone. I would think it was my fault, and the guilt would finish me off, and you would be swiftly despatched downstairs. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred ruddy quid." Gene scowled. "After you died, you would wake up somewhere very hot chained to Jimbo here for the rest of your days, and I'd be another disgraced, washed up old copper drinking myself into the grave. On top of it all, he would be having a laugh at the expense of Him upstairs for breaking the rules."

"So, what happens now?" Sarah asked in a small voice.

"He broke the rules. These storms are your bona-fide, one hundred percent, wrath of the Lord Almighty, and now Arma-bloody-geddon has arrived at Fenchurch East."

"So, he wins anyway," Sarah began to cry quietly. Gene crawled over to her and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her into his chest.

"I'm afraid so, love."

"Awww, how sweet," Keats mocked, his face a mask of spite. He pulled himself to his feet, battling the wind and rain to stay upright. "Well, if you'll excuse me I must be going." He headed off towards his office door, his hand grasped the handle and he paused and turned. "Last chance Sarah. Come with me."

"Go to hell."

Keats smiled and yanked the door handle. The door was stuck. Keats shook the handle, the door did not budge. He put both hands to the handle and pulled; it broke away in his hands, sending him tumbling back to the floor in a heap.

Another roar of thunder made the walls of the office shake. The giant clock above Keats' desk crashed to the floor, where it lay, ticking forlornly.

Ticking. The fog in Gene's brain cleared.

"Show me your watch, Jimbo," Gene demanded. Without waiting for an answer he pulled himself to his feet and staggered to Keats' side. He grabbed Keats' arm and pulled up his sleeve, where his watch was ticking away. "She's not dead, is she?"

Keats went still. "What?"

"Your watch is ticking. She's still alive."

Keats stared at his watch, then at Sarah.

Sarah looked back and forth between the men in confusion. "Will somebody please speak English?"

"You're still alive," Gene smiled. "His watch would have stopped if you were dead." Gene crossed to her and took hold of her shoulders. "He should never have brought you here. Those dreams, those feelings you have, he's put himself in your mind, but he didn't stop to consider if he could take himself out again. Now he's inside you and he can't walk away, until you die. I'm not about to let him kill you, and neither is the good Lord up there, so he's bonded to you while this whole world gets torn down around his ears."

A bolt of lightning struck the ground between Keats' legs. He whimpered and shuffled backwards.

"Send her back, Jim," Gene said. "It's the only way to stop this."

"But she's MINE!" Keats whined. Another lightning bolt flashed past, singeing his coat. "It's not fair."

"Fine," Gene held Sarah's hand. "Then we all die. You first, by the looks of it."

Another lightning bolt whistled through the air, barely missing Keats' head. He snarled as he got to his feet and walked to Sarah. Gene was alert, ready to intervene.

"Fine," Keats sighed. He put his fingers lightly to Sarah's cheeks, as the clouds above began to dissolve. "But I warn you Sarah; every single part of you will ache for me from this day onwards for the rest of your life."

"Don't kid yourself," she shrugged. "You're not that good in bed."

Gene laughed loudly as Keats snarled.

"When it's all over," he whispered, "I'll be waiting for you."

Gene stepped forward. "So will the Gene Genie."

The sky became a perfect blue and the sun appeared in a blinding flash of light. Sarah shielded her eyes to the brightness and suddenly felt dizziness overtake her. She fell to the ground as she could hear her blood rush in her ears. Through the roar, she heard the monotonous beep of a heart monitor.

"She's coming round. Look, she's coming round."

EPILOGUE

2010. Gene Hunt took off his coat and sat heavily in his chair. He poured himself a whisky, and stared at the dark amber liquid, thoughtfully. One of these days, he thought, I bloody well will stop for a pint in that pub.

The ping of email arriving interrupted his train of thought. He spun his chair around to face the flat screen monitor on his desk and grabbed his mouse, clicking his inbox. An email from personnel appeared with details of his latest DI. He double clicked the attachment and sipped his whisky as he waited for it to load.

First he saw the name.

Then he saw the photograph.

He clicked forward. He typed his colleague's email address and pressed send.

Then he sat back with the biggest grin his face could hold, and began to count.

It took precisely fifteen seconds for DCI Jim Keats to appear in the doorway.

It was another ten seconds before DI Sarah Jenkins walked through the door to CID.

"I think you'd better watch your back from now on, Jimbo," Gene said, as he got up to greet his newest recruit.

Keats pouted. "Like I'd be afraid of her?"

"Oh, but you should be." Gene smiled. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."


End file.
